


Fade

by sarai377



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Blood, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sadness, Self-Harm, all the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarai377/pseuds/sarai377
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Endgame: Robin does the thing but he doesn’t fade… immediately. (Spoilers for EndGame)</p><p>Robin’s hand falls to the bed, muscles heavy and tired. His body aches and burns, and parts of it are going numb. “You know I’m… dying, don’t you, Chrom?”</p><p>Based on headcanons from Tumblr user Grima-of-Nohr. Cross-posted on my Tumblr account.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. May We Meet Again

**Author's Note:**

> It's not necessary to read the post to understand what's going on here, but this is where I got my inspiration: http://grima-of-nohr.tumblr.com/post/132170205705
> 
> I'm cross-posting this here because it's hard to read on my Tumblr account.

For a moment or two, Robin touches that vast nothingness. It exists around him, in him - he is within the nothingness, and he is nothing. Touch, emotion, love - these things cannot exist, and yet he knows what they are, knows that he wants them.

And then he sees her - the great dragon, lovely and alien. Her voice echoes across him, flaying him to the core with its strength, but it also draws him back to his body, his pale existence. 

“ _Slaying Grima has caused the end of your life as well, Fellblood. I did not promise it would be a swift death, or that you would return. But you have done a great thing, and the world shall know and remember what you have done_.”

Her words are meant to be comforting.

Breath fills him, his cold, dying body surrounding him, holding his spirit to this plane for a little while longer. He jolts against the pillows that he knows Morgan put behind him, hours or days ago. When he parts his dry lips, someone puts a cup of water to them. He drinks, and knows his time is approaching.

A soft voice is speaking beside him, has been speaking for some time. “…okay, Robin… it’s okay. More healers are coming soon… from Regna Ferox, from Valm… from across the far seas, if I have to. I’ll save you… just please, stay with me?” He recognizes the voice.

“Chrom,” Robin says, opening tired, foggy eyes.

“Robin!” Chrom sounds surprised, as if he didn’t expect Robin to come back this time.

Robin can’t make out the newly exalted prince too well, but he sees a blur of blue hair. When Chrom comes close enough, there’s no mistaking the pain in his blue eyes. Robin touches his face, his fingers trembling, and Chrom squeezes his eyes shut. Robin feels Chrom’s tears splash down on his hand and arm.

At least he can still feel, although judging by the tingling in his legs beneath the supposedly warm blankets, he won’t experience that for much longer.

That thought should fill him with some emotion, fear or pain or anger, but it doesn’t. Not yet. He feels numb and cold, and so tired. If he could just sleep, he thinks he might feel better… but something in the back of his mind won’t let him sleep just yet.

He had expected to fade immediately after Grima - everyone was relieved that he survived. They had celebrated, as Robin braced for the worst, but hours and then days passed. He had just started believing that he had been spared, that he would survive - and then, a week after killing Grima, his body started failing him.

The weakness grew worse and worse, spreading through his body, and none of the healers had been able to help him.

Robin’s hand falls to the bed, muscles heavy and tired. His body aches and burns, and parts of it are going numb. “You know I’m… dying, don’t you, Chrom?”

“No, that’s not true,” Chrom protests, and his voice sounds like glass shattering, so fragile and jagged.

“It’s happening… as Naga said it would.” Robin draws in a breath and expels it slowly. “I’m fading like Grima.”

“No. Stop that! You’ll be fine!”

“Chrom,” Robin chides.

Chrom’s face is tight and distressed, and close enough that Robin can see it clearly. Part of Robin wishes Chrom would back up, disappear into nondescript fuzziness, so Robin won’t have to see his lover’s pain. His chest hurts, and he realizes he’s forgotten to keep breathing.

A quick gasp, and he forces the air into and out of his lungs.

Chrom finally says something other than false promises. “Robin… I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Robin says.

Tears form in his eyes. Not for himself - no, these tears are for Chrom, who has to watch Robin die a slow death. Robin wishes there were something he could do to keep Chrom from feeling this pain. Robin loves Chrom as a friend, a soulmate, and when he spoke of being two halves of the same whole, Robin meant it. He knows that his death will break something in Chrom, much as the exalt’s death would do something unfixable to Robin.

Chrom is a beacon of light to him, the man who pulled him from the ground and dared to offer his hand in friendship - and eventually more than friendship.

He loves Chrom with every fiber of his being - every unwinding strand, as he comes apart and disappears into the unknown.

Robin shakes his head, running his fingers through Chrom’s hair. He speaks, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to panic, and he has to stay strong for Chrom. “Don’t say that, Chrom. You didn’t know… it would be like this.” His voice trails off into a weak cough, and it is difficult to draw breath for a moment, as if his own body is protesting the very air he needs to survive.

Chrom rubs at Robin’s back, and helps hold him upright as he gasps, and after a few moments his lungs relax. The exalt wraps his arms around Robin, gently, and rests his head against Robin’s shoulder. “I know, but…  _Robin_. I’m sorry you are suffering like this, Robin. I love you. I’m sorry we couldn’t find another solution. I’m sorry that you’re leaving me and you might never-” he cuts off with a wordless noise, almost a sob, not quite a cry.

 _You might never come back_ , Robin finishes for Chrom, and fat tears leak down Robin’s face too. In that instant Robin knows that Chrom feels the approaching emptiness too, the pain of an empty heart. They huddle together against it, protecting this small dwindling flame from the chill winds.

“Chrom, it’s okay.” Robin twists as much as he can and puts his arm around him, feeling Chrom shudder as he struggles to keep the tears away. And now the tingling is in Robin’s hands, and he raises one up and realizes that he can see through it.

“ _Chrom_ ,” Robin says urgently, and the exalt looks up.

“No,” he hisses, touching Robin’s hand. Robin can barely feel his grip, as if through wads of cloth. It is so cold, colder than he’s ever been, but his body has no energy to even shiver.

“Chrom, I’m scared - I’m so scared,” Robin gasps, and Chrom clasps his hand tight, a lifeline to safety and security and comfort. Robin feels something deep within him start to crumble, like an old stone wall weathered away by time and inevitability. “It’s dark and cold and empty and I don’t want to go yet-” The words tumble out of him, and he was going to be strong but he can’t, not in this instant when his body is literally fading before his eyes. He brings his hands up to his face and covers it, but he can see  _through_ them. “I don’t want fade into nothingness-” He chokes on the words and cannot continue.

“Listen to me,” Chrom says, and there are tears in his eyes, but there’s also that determination that made Robin fall in love with him so long ago. Robin watches through fading eyes as Chrom pulls himself back together with that strength that made him continue on after Emmeryn’s death, after their betrayal in Valm, after Robin stole the Fire Emblem from him at his father’s request. Chrom sits up straighter and clasps Robin’s face and cheeks. His hands are warm on Robin’s skin, and the touch stabilizes him.

“Listen to me,” Chrom repeats. “There is no nothingness. There’s  _something_ out there, when we die. I don’t know what it is, but there is somewhere that you will still exist. I don’t believe that Emmeryn is gone for good, and you…” Chrom swallows hard, but keeps pushing through the tightness in his throat. “You won’t be gone forever, either. I love you, and I  _will_ find you again. In this life or the next, even if we never come back to this world again. I will find you.”

Robin stares at Chrom, hopeful in spite of what he’s felt. It sounds so promising. Chrom has never lied to him. Robin believes him, as he trusts him. He raises a fading hand and presses against Chrom’s hand on his cheek. Through the icy numbness he feels Chrom’s skin beneath his palm, for just an instant, but it is enough.

He knows how hard it must be for Chrom to be strong in this instant, but he’s doing it for Robin.

Chrom continues, still crying, “I will miss you so much, Robin, but it’s okay. You did a great thing, getting rid of Grima for good.”

Robin pulls Chrom to him for a gentle kiss. A brush of lips is all he can manage, but Chrom closes his eyes and just rests his forehead against Robin’s for a moment. Robin can feel Chrom’s hair pressed between their skin.

“I love you,” Chrom says after a pause. “And if you don’t come back to me in this lifetime, Robin… May we meet again in a better one.”

His words sink deep into Robin, into that calm center, and he swears he can  _feel_ that invisible tie connecting him to Chrom, to Morgan, to every one of the Shepherds.

“We will. I know we will.” Already Robin can feel that darkness seeping into his body, but he’s not afraid of it any longer.

Robin smiles, even as Chrom rises and goes to the door, calling urgently for Morgan.

His daughter staggers over to Robin, her eyes dark as she takes in his fading hands. She throws herself into his arms, and he feels her arms around his body for all of an instant. Over her head, he locks eyes with Chrom, his eyesight suddenly clear.

“I love you,” he whispers into Morgan’s hair, as he stares at Chrom.

Those invisible ties are with him as he slips out of his cloak and into the soft, welcoming darkness.


	2. The Pain of Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the two-year anniversary of Grima’s defeat, Chrom and Morgan each deal with their loss in their own way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Blood and Self-harm

The day starts like any other; Chrom gets dressed and then goes to get Luci ready as well. The four-year-old runs from her nursemaid’s side when she sees him, and he buries his face in her blue hair as she wraps her small arms around his neck.  The nurse leaves as usual once Chrom shows up.

“We have a very important ceremony to attend today,” Chrom tells Luci, kneeling before the child-sized vanity. She presses a ribbon into his hands and he ties her hair up with well-practiced ease and familiarity. He continues, staring at her reflection, “Can you be on your best behavior?”

“Yes,” she chirps sweetly, smiling with that mouth full of tiny teeth. “I will, Daddy!”

“Good,” he says, and sets the little golden tiara atop her head. She leans into the small mirror, adjusting her hair just so - she’s very particular about her hair, a trait learned from Lissa, no doubt - and Chrom takes a moment to study himself. He looks… haggard. Worn-down. He has forgotten his crown again, but Frederick won’t let him attend the ceremony without it. Chrom doesn’t think he looks much like an Exalted king, but he’s been just that for the past two years.

He closes his eyes, refusing to acknowledge the loss he sees in his own shadowed, lined face. He can’t stop his chest from aching, that resonant void where love used to rest. Two years should have lessened the pain, but it hasn't.

The only thing that has diminished is his hope.

Part of him wonders how _he_ will get through today, but he pushes those painful thoughts down. Chrom made it through last year’s celebration, and he will make it through this year’s as well. He will do what he must, what he has forced himself to do for days and months… and the whole _t_ _wo years_ since Robin…

Tears fall from his eyes and a soft sound breaks from within his chest.

“Daddy, don't cry,” Luci whispers, turning and rubbing at his wet cheek.

She probably doesn't remember Robin, but Chrom recalls with aching clarity how Robin would hold Luci like she was one of the most precious things he had ever seen. How, after Luci’s mother died during childbirth, Robin would swaddle Luci and hold her close. How Robin would comfort the squalling newborn, while Chrom mourned his wife's death and doubted his abilities to be both a good single father and the worthy leader of his country. How Robin stepped up and took care of Chrom’s broken heart, too, until the day the prince realized love again in Robin's steady arms.

“What's wrong, Daddy?” Her face is open and bright, and concerned.

“I miss him, Luci,” he sighs, and she wraps her arms around him as he kneels in the royal nursery, the room spinning around him.

“I know,” she says, sounding much older than her four years. “Me too, Daddy.”

He blinks through the tears, and breathes, “Who do you miss?”

“Robin.”

It feels worse than that time Robin stabbed him. He clutches Luci tight to him, keeping his lips closed against the whimpers that threaten to burst out.

Today will be hard. Too hard, possibly. Last year, he’d still had hope. It had taken almost a week for Robin to fade away - his return would also take time. But this year… he is starting to doubt. He’d told Robin that he would still exist, but he wonders now if it wasn’t true. Chrom should be stronger than this - he shouldn’t let his faith be shaken… but he can’t fix what is already cracking and crumbling within himself.

He fears deep down that he _lied_ to Robin, and that lie will haunt him to his own grave, his own empty nothingness, if Robin doesn’t come back.

Luci pats his hair and face and shoulders until he gets it together, and the crying slows. He draws in deep breaths, sweeping tears from puffy eyes and avoiding the mirror.

A faint thud reaches his ear, a welcome distraction.

“What’s that?” Lucina asks. It sounds like it’s coming from the next room, and he frowns.

Morgan’s room is on the other side of this wall. Something isn’t quite right about the noise.

With unease coiling in his stomach, Chrom gathers Luci in his arms and walks out into the corridor. He is aware that it probably looks like he's been crying. It doesn't really bother him or worry him, like it would have two years ago. Everyone knows now what Robin was to him, all his subjects, and if they haven't accepted it… they know better than to say anything about it, at least to his face.

Chrom knocks on the door, but Morgan doesn't answer. He hopes that she is alright. Another thud echoes out, louder this time. He twists the handle - the door is unlocked, and it swings open beneath his hand. The light from the hallway trickles into the dim room beneath his feet. From her perch on his arm, Lucina peers into the room.

“Morgan?” He squints, and spots her near the tall dresser. A thrill runs through him at the sight of that white hair, the dark cloak turning her slight form ambiguous. By the light of the pair of candelabras near the bed he can see her movements.

Morgan’s fingers grip the beveled edge of the fine wooden armoire, and she purposefully strikes her forehead against the sharp corner. The noise it makes as she hits, hard, echoes through him.

Chrom freezes, he who once stood against the Fell Dragon, against the great Conqueror Walhart and the dark sorcerer Validar - he freezes at the sight of his lover’s daughter beating her head bloody against the furniture. His mind can’t comprehend what he is seeing.

Luci doesn't suffer from his paralysis, though. With a shout, she squirms out of Chrom's arms and runs to Morgan, grabbing her shirt and tugging on it.

The teenager turns and looks down at Luci, who starts crying at the blood trickling down Morgan’s forehead, along the side of her nose, and finally, finally Chrom springs into action.

He grabs Morgan's shoulders and pulls her in against his chest, not caring in the slightest that she's getting blood all over his finest shirt. Tears stream down her face and mingle with the blood.

“Let go of me,” Morgan hisses. She tries to get away, and he holds on tight. “No! Get out - stop-” Morgan’s nails draw blood from the bare skin on his hands, but he is more concerned with calming her than protecting himself. One girl, no matter how wiry and strong, is no match for him on physical strength alone. Chrom is a fully grown warrior in the prime of his life, and he holds on tight until she stops thrashing.

His heart pounds in his chest as he realizes that Morgan is anything except alright. He should have expected something like this. Beneath that normally cheerful personality was a sad, frightened daughter, who had lost the one person she could remember. Of course she is upset, today of all days, and if he’d payed a little more attention to her, he might have seen the signs.

Guilt flushes through him. He'd promised Robin he would take care of Morgan if anything happened to him, and Robin had promised the same for Lucina. A pact between two lovers in the stillness of the night, sharing their heavy burdens… and Chrom is letting down his side of that bargain.

 _I can’t do this alone, Robin,_ he thinks, but then Morgan stops fighting him, going slack in his arms.

Without her resistance, he easily picks her up. Morgan weighs practically nothing as he carries her, and he holds on tight, afraid that if he drops her she will shatter.

The sharp tang of blood fills his nostrils as he breathes hard. Morgan's eyes are closed and one white-knuckled fist is pressed against her mouth. Chrom lays her down on the bed, her hand still tight in his ruined shirt, and he smooths the hair back from her forehead to get a good look at the wound. It looks bad, and the blood is flowing down, seeping into her hair.

“Morgan, what were you thinking?” he demands, reaching for a cloth on her nightstand and pressing it against the open wound. She winces and reaches up, weakly trying to push his grip off, but he bats her hand aside. “Why are you doing this?” His words come out sharper than he intended. Her eyes narrow, tears building up between her pale eyelashes, but she doesn't reply. A terrible thought crosses Chrom's mind as he focuses on the blood.

Luci climbs on the bed beside them, holding onto Chrom’s arm and sobbing. “Morgan,” Luci gasps, her little voice almost incoherent, “Morgan, are you okay?”

“I should take you to Lissa,” Chrom says, lifting the cloth and noting the amount of blood with concern.

“No, please,” Morgan sighs. “It's fine.”

“It's not fine, and I don't know what would ever possess you to do this!” Chrom catches her hand and places it firmly on the cloth. “Keep that tight, Morgan.” She frowns but obeys.

“Please, Chrom,” she begs. “Don’t.”

Maybe it’s the way she speaks his name, that soft lilt in her voice that reminds him of… but he sits beside her, and instead of taking her to Lissa like he should, he gathers Luci in his arms and soothes her meltdown. When Luci is curled up and relatively calm on his lap (a soft hiccough bursts out of her every few seconds), he focuses his attention on Morgan once more. The girl has her eyes closed and a bitter frown twists her mouth.

He has a sneaking suspicion he knows what Morgan was doing. Anger rises in his chest.

“Is it still bleeding?” he growls, and she raises the cloth with a wince. It is, but Chrom just stares at it unseeing for a moment. “Morgan,” he says. He knows he should be calm and try to reason with her, but his chest hurts and that emptiness has a hold on him. It makes him more abrupt than normal. “Why are you trying to beat your skull in?”

She just shakes her head and rolls away from him on the bed, and a rough, painful sob bursts out of her.

He remembers walking by her tent, shortly after they had found her. She had been trying to remember her mother by knocking her head into a support beam. This incident is oddly similar, although now it seems she is pushing harder, striking deeper.

As if... she's trying to erase memories instead of bringing them back.

He closes his eyes for a moment. Robin would never forgive him if Morgan succeeded.

“Is it because… of him?” he asks.

Morgan shudders, and that is answer enough.

Chrom reaches out and touches her arm, lightly. “You’re not the only one who is getting tired of waiting.”

She shifts her arm out of his grip, and her body language is clear - she doesn’t want to talk to him about it. He stares down at her for a few moments, his body aching like he’s been carrying rocks around with him all morning.

“That wound needs magic to heal,” he tells her after another minute. “Come on, we're going to Lissa.”

She protests and eventually he has to carry her, when it's clear she won't go of her own volition. She ducks her head into his chest, hiding her face, and he knows how she must feel - the only person she remembers is missing and has been absent for almost two years. But Robin lost all his memories before Chrom met him, and he never did anything like this, to try and bring back those memories. At least, Chrom doesn’t think he did.

“I'm here, Morgan,” he says, peeking back to make sure Luci is following him. “I'm here, if you ever want to talk about him.”

“I want to forget him,” Morgan says, and curls deeper around herself.

It feels like being stabbed all over again, and Chrom stops trying to engage her.

He lies to Lissa, tells her that Morgan tripped into the dresser, and she plays the part of clumsy invalid well. He pulls his sleeves down over the nail marks she’s left on his skin, and Lissa doesn’t see them, preoccupied with fixing up Morgan.

Luci stays with her Aunty Lissa when they're done, and Chrom walks Morgan back to her room. She's withdrawn and dizzy, although he's not sure if that's from the emotions or the trauma.

Chrom doesn't press her, allowing her to remain lost in her own thoughts. He can't even look at her, and his emotions are all bundled up within him, pain and hope and who knows what else, until he can't speak and he can't act and he can't _think_.

When they get back to her room, Morgan claims she wants to rest, and he lets her.

He stands guard outside her door, listening intently for any sounds, until Frederick comes to get him, chiding him like he's Luci’s age for the mess he’s made of his clothing. He changes into his second-best outfit, and puts on the crown, and between the last minute preparations and Frederick fussing over him like a glorified nanny, he forgets about Morgan for a while.

The ceremony goes well, and if Chrom finds it unbearable, he’s certain no one else can tell. He stands solemn and still, the thin metal crown heavy on his brow. Beside him Luci is on her best behavior too, in the pretty little dress that he thinks Robin would have loved. He blinks furiously a few times, keeping the tears at bay, and then when it is his turn to speak, he talks of sacrifices for the greater good, vague platitudes about a healing nation that Chrom doesn't feel. He keeps his own truth deep within himself and locks it up until the ceremony is over.

To him - to Morgan - the sacrifice wasn’t worth it.

~*~

Her new scar tingles and aches as Morgan presses her finger against it. It reminds her that she’s still here, that she hasn’t faded away into nothingness, and she's not sure if she's glad of that or if she hates it.

It should have worked - she should have been able to knock the memories out, one by one, like snuffing flames in a chill wind. Chrom’s horrified face darts across her mind - another thing she wishes she could forget. She hadn’t meant for him to see her doing that.

Morgan cringes, and curls up a little tighter in the cloak, dragging her feet up onto the plush seat of the chair. After all this time, she knows that her cloak doesn’t smell like anyone other than herself… but she drops her nose to it anyway, conjuring up the indescribable scent of home, of happiness. It is fleeting, just a wisp of something, and then it is gone. Voices catch her attention through the thick panes, and she casts her eyes outside.

The courtyard is well-lit beneath her, and through the window she watches the stragglers - her father’s companions from the war, and the future children, the friends she should have known from childhood - as they make their way from the castle. Laurent and Gerome, easily distinguishable by their outfits, step into their carriage, joined by Severa and Kjelle. Their low laughter falls sharp on her ears, and she can almost imagine the smiles.

Maybe she should have accepted Laurent’s quiet offer to join them. Maybe it would have helped the heaviness surrounding her.

Morgan had gone to spend her time with Luci instead, and her pseudo-sister had been delighted at the rare one-on-one time, even going so far as to ask Morgan to tuck her in, under the amused guidance of her nursemaid.

As the carriage drives away, Morgan exhales. She can't pretend she is getting by, and it is unfair of all of them to expect her to. Morgan knows that Chrom is just trying to look after her, and he'd been more than generous in the past two years since Robin faded, but it has never been the same.

The ceremony had been nice.

No, that was a lie - she'd hated every second of it. It made a mockery of everything she had sacrificed, everything that had been torn from her, unwilling.

Morgan had done everything in her power to hold on to her father, the only part of her past that mattered... and he had still died, had still slipped through her fingers while she clung to him. She hates the others - Severa and Laurent and the rest - if only for the fact that they were able to save their parents’ lives. They kept their future from happening, while Morgan ended up with the worst future she could imagine.

The room suddenly feels like it’s turning around her, or maybe she is the one spinning. Morgan closes her eyes and holds her breath.

She presses her fingers into the scar again, welcoming the ache - and then jumps when there’s a knock at her door.

It’s going to be Chrom - she knows this before she even opens it.

“May I come in?” he asks. His crown is absent, his fine clothing rumpled, and he smells a bit like wine… but his eyes are bright and aware. He studies her with that keen look in his eye… the one that he learned from her father.

Morgan turns away, and her voice sounds tinny as she says, “If you wish.”

She retreats to the bed, her hand rubbing along the fine fabric of the comforter. He sits on the bed beside her, and they both stare across at the dresser for a time.

Morgan knows why he’s here, and she just wants to get it over with. She’s tired, and she has things to do before she sleeps… but she won't be the first to speak.

“About this morning,” he finally says, shifting back onto his hands and kicking his feet off the floor, dangling them in midair. He seems much younger now than he had earlier, and when she looks at him from the corners of her eyes, she can almost see the young man her father had fallen in love with.

After she had been reunited with Robin, the topic of her mother had come up. He had hesitantly explained that he’d never been with a woman. She had asked him why, and he had honest-to-Naga _blushed_ , and then muttered something about Chrom’s youthful charm. From then on, she had watched the two of them together, curious, at first, and then with growing satisfaction. Robin was happier when Chrom was around, even though the events at the Dragon’s Table had lessened that cheer somewhat. And Chrom had been more confident, more positive… they had been good for each other.

With Robin faded from collective memory, that joy is gone. Chrom looks young and too old at the same time, sitting in her room, a remnant of what he used to be... and she can’t stand it.

Morgan keeps her eyes down. Her heart beats desperately in her chest, her throat, her ears, until it’s all she can do to hold herself together. Her chest burns, and a soft sound falls from her mouth as she remembers how to breathe again.

“Morgan.” The Exalt places his booted feet on the rug, his voice less hesitant. “I am here if you ever want to talk about Robin.”

She winces. “I don’t.”

“Don’t what?” His voice is pitched higher than normal, in disbelief.

“Don’t want to talk about him.” Morgan runs her hand through her hair, and it gets caught on a snarl. She pulls the offending strands out from the rest and tugs this way and that, working her fingers through.

“I know I’m not your father, but-”

“You’re just doing this out of… guilt, maybe,” she says, her fingers shaking as she struggles to untangle the snarl. “You feel like you owe my father, like you have to take care of me now that he’s gone. But you don’t. Nobody will collect this debt that you’re repaying. Everyone else has already moved on, and we should too.”

She pulls on the tangle, and there’s a sharp pain in her scalp as it comes free. The clump of pale hair flutters to the blanket.

“Morgan,” he breathes, and she looks at him, that pain in his voice moving her almost against her will. She can’t sit here, impassive to his pain, even as his presence and the fact that he reminds her over and over again of her father tears her to shreds.

She rises, goosebumps cascading down her arms beneath the cloak, and walks back to the window. The glass is cold and slick against her fingers. The courtyard is empty now, not a stableboy or guardsman in sight.

Behind her, Chrom speaks, soft and hesitant. “He’s going to come back.”

The hope in those words is like the first whisper of Arcfire magic, and she is the kindling, ready to burn down to useless embers. She won’t let it happen again.

“Father is _gone_ ,” she whispers, and turns back toward her father’s lover. Her voice was so breathy that at first she’s not sure he heard her. But then his eyes tighten, and he draws in a hard breath.

“You’re wrong,” Chrom snaps, and comes to his feet.

“I hope I am, but…” She swallows hard, and doesn’t continue. It is difficult to draw enough breath around everything trapped in her throat.

“Morgan, look at me.” He takes her hands in his own, and his eyes catch on the shiny scar in the middle of her forehead. His eyes narrow with pain, and then he forces them wide again. “I miss him too. The gods know how much I - how much _we_ \- sacrificed, what Robin took from us to rid our world of Grima for good. He will come back.”

Her vision swims a little, and she blinks until the tears clear out, watching the second button on his shirt. How she wants to believe him… to believe that her father is coming back, and that he is just outside, ready to burst into the room, to surprise her with open arms and that deep, contemplative smile…

But he doesn’t, and he isn’t coming back. She’s spent most of the last two years looking for him. She sometimes feels like she knows every blade of grass in the field where Chrom and Lissa and Frederick had found him, the first time. It is tearing her apart, hoping endlessly, holding on to these memories while they burn her up inside.

“He _has_ to come back,” Chrom says, trying to be confident. His voice quavers.

Morgan drops her eyes to his large hands wrapped around hers, the hope he is literally clinging to. The ring - Chrom’s ring, that he still wears in honor of Robin - sits heavy on his left hand.

This is what Chrom needs. He needs to know that someone else still believes that Robin will come back. He can’t be the only person who still believes it, and she sees that anguish in his face.

“Yes,” she agrees. The lie burns her tongue, but she doesn’t want to convince Chrom otherwise. Just this little discussion with him is already too much - if he forces it, she will break, and she can’t - she won’t - this is what she has to do to survive.

She wants to be left alone, to mourn and grieve in her own way.

Morgan stands up tall, and her voice is strong, confident. “He has to come back. And he will.”

He studies Morgan for a moment, eyes darting back and forth across her face as if he can read the truth in every muscle. He must know she is lying. Like her father, she has a bit of a stubborn streak, and he is well aware of it. She braces for an argument - but he backs off.

“Thank you.” Chrom steps back and releases her, and she sways, her balance off-kilter. After a few moment’s pause, he nods. “It’s getting late, and I’m sure you’re tired. I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow morning?”

Morgan bites her lips, and lies again. “Yes. Good night, Chrom.”

After he leaves, she slumps onto the bed. Tears drip down her cheeks, falling to her sleeves and splashing onto her hands. The lie hangs stale and pungent in the air around her, leaving a foul taste in her mouth.

It is time - past time, truly.

With a shudder, she kneels before the bed and reaches for the full satchel beneath the bedskirt. Dragging it out, she upzips it and peers inside, ensuring that her possessions are in order.

She reaches into a pocket and unfolds the note. She glances around the room for a suitable spot to leave it, and moves to the nightstand. She tents the note on the smooth wooden surface. Something still isn’t right, though, and it is only when she looks down her own body that she realizes what it is.

With trembling fingers, she undoes the worn clasps at her neck, and slips the thin, worn fabric from her shoulders. It glides down, and she sweeps it around. Tucking her face into it one last time, she breathes in - but there’s no magical scent left, no fleeting happiness, no remnant of her father.

“I’m sorry, Chrom,” she whispers, her voice muffled by the fabric.

He is truly gone, and he’s never coming back.

~*~

The next morning, Chrom stands in the middle of Morgan’s room. The room looks exactly the same as it had yesterday morning, before the ceremony - except Morgan is gone. Her purple cloak, lovingly darned and protected over the years, sits on the bed, neatly folded. A slip of paper with his name on it is perched on top.

“Where’s Morgan, Daddy?” Luci asks, not yet understanding what he knows all too well. She tugs at his pant leg, demanding answers.

Chrom cannot speak, but he knows.

She’s gone. She'd stolen away in the middle of the night, left without saying goodbye. At least with Lucina, he'd had notice. His grown-up daughter had sat him down about a year ago, and explained that she needed to leave. It had been easier to say goodbye to his own daughter, than it was to let Morgan go.

Chrom should have seen the signs… should have _listened_ to her. He knew she was making impulsive decisions, he had seen her withdrawing … and yet he hadn’t pieced it together.

He lifts the paper with numb hands and flips it open. His eyes drift across the elegant script for a few moments, unseeing, and then he forces himself to focus.

 _It has been two years_ , Morgan’s note says. _Two long years of searching, and waiting, and hoping. I’m sorry Chrom, but you and Luci aren’t enough, not when every time I look at you I see his shadow over me. I can’t stay any longer._

His hand glides over the worn fabric, bunching in it, raising it and watching that purple garment unfurl.

She left her cloak, Robin’s cloak, that she clung to all these years.

“Robin…” he whispers, sitting down heavily on the bed.

He has never said it aloud, never voiced the fear that pulses with every beat of his heart. When Morgan said it last night, he refused it, demanded that she take it back. But now, faced with Morgan’s absence...he can’t pretend that fear isn’t there.

“Maybe… Robin isn’t coming back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hail Grima.  
> I was purposefully vague with who Luci’s mother is, and Morgan’s.  
> There might be a third chapter of this - as I was writing it I came up with another part I could write. For now, I'm marking this story complete, but I might reopen it if I decide to write the third piece.  
> Special thanks go to Seraphinu for this one, for reading an earlier draft and really pointing me in the right direction.  
> Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think.


End file.
